Montage
by MiaulinK
Summary: Daniel Williams was a creation. Whether of his parents, of the Zone, or of anything else, he was a montage of experiences. Politician, halfa, hero, teacher-these were all titles he'd assumed at some point in life, titles that held the keys to his past, his present, and his future. They were hardly all the titles he would ever use. Hidden Phantom one-shot collection.
1. GhostWriter

**I own nothing.**

Ghost Writer

You don't think I realize it, do you? I see you across the room, greeting dignitaries from far-off portions of the Zone, smile fixed firmly across your face. You give me a confused glance when you feel my eyes boring into you, don't you? It's your "sixth sense". You're anxious, constantly, and don't think the others notice. Believe me, at least three people here know your secret.

There Clockwork hovers, pleasantly mingling with us lesser beings, sometimes giving you a smile or nod. He trusts you, and so will I, for now. He moves towards you, gives you his greetings, leaves once more. Time duties call.

The Observants aren't here, but how can they not know? They are almost sub masters of time. I see the looks they give you, suspicion, anger. You are a Halfa, after all, a lesser being than even the rest of us.

I hear the introductions, the lies the introductors don't even know they spout.

They say you are Phantom, and if they mention your human alter-ego, they call you Williams. How can they miss so much, be so blind? I feel the urge to tell the world, but it won't do any good, and it probably won't hurt the universe, either. Clockwork would see to that.

I wrote a history book for the Zone, and no doubt you would have pushed against its writing if you knew what they gave me.

The Observants didn't want me to inadvertently lie so they gave me a pen. The pen doesn't let me lie, intentionally or unintentionally. I wonder if they realized I would learn about you.

Telling about the War was simple. We survived it, and I am, after all, the God of Knowledge, essentially. I can recite the facts off the top of my head, even now! It began in 1996, though the storm was brewing long before. That was when it broke loose, when the king of Redrigor made it obvious what his intentions were.

Before, you know, they tried to assassinate multiple crown-holders. That was when the Dragon Queen, Princebane, met you.

You didn't see the Zone's political stage until afterwards, in the second year of the war, when the Jitongi were set loose. You were fresh out of human college, just got your precious job, and you didn't want to give it up. You planned to balance things out.

It worked well enough, you know. You were just finishing up the year for the former teacher, and you didn't expect to be called back later.

So many lives were lost that year, Consumed. You were almost one of them, but you came out stronger, just like the others who survived it. You became one of the war leaders, and you were there the next year, just at the beginning, as the war was won.

You lied to us, told us who you were.

I knew, from the moment I began the War History.

I told the pen who you were, purely accidental. It wouldn't write your name. Mr. Williams-you never were him. I tested, again and again. I came up with your real name, piece by piece. Patience led me to use every sound in the English language.

F-E-N-T-O-N.

That's my answer.

You lied to us all, and if you ever make a wrong move, I'll tell them. I'll tell them what I learned about you late at night.

I used the pen so often. My Obsession is knowledge, and how could I not try to find out?

I know about the memory block.

I know your name.

I know your past.

 **This isn't the start of a new story precisely. This is a collection of random one-shots and other short stories and scenes from** _ **Hidden Phantom**_ **. It will only be updated when new material comes to my mind. It will also likely contain short scene suggestions (reader or coauthor or myself) which might be AUs or otherwise outside of** _ **Hidden Phantom's**_ **range. It may not be entirely consistent with other** _ **Hidden Phantom**_ **stories, or with** _ **VALKA**_ **.**

 **Please leave a review to say whether you like it or how you like it. If you are a reader of** _ **Hidden Phantom**_ **, never fear. It will be updated. In fact, a double chapter is coming up. Originally it was going to be a Christmas or New Year's Day present but time got in the way. However, both chapters are finished and in the editing process now.**

 **-MiaulinK**


	2. June 1993

**Danny is about 16 in this, it's only about five months since he got away from his parents. This is probably post-erasure, but it may not be. Be sure to leave a review! And for those who didn't read the AN in the first chapter, this is a Hidden Phantom side-story fic. Mostly one-shots here.**

June 1993

Danny walked out of the general store quickly, pulling his dark grey, Dallas Cowboys hoodie further over his head, white draw-strings hanging loosely over the front. He cast an anxious look over his shoulder out of habit. He could not escape the constant feeling of being watched. The bags he carried were looped around both of his arms, and though they looked heavy to the casual onlooker, they were actually weightless to the young halfa.

Old men were the most common around and inside the store, although a few younger fellows hung out with their dates by the counter, where ice cream sundaes were sold. Danny, however, did not have the money, or the correct mood, to enjoy the atmosphere, one of a small country town, most of the citizens happy with what they had, content, but too sluggish for the sixteen year old. He had lived life on the edge for too long, and had the air of a veteran. An aura radiated from the youth, one of danger, which subconsciously forced others away from him, the instinct to run from that which was dead overcoming any small-town friendliness towards strangers, and heightening the suspicion of the gossips.

An elderly woman with a tight bun that equaled her terse temperament, complimenting her sharp features, though endowed with a lovely voice that was said to be mismatched to her appearance, glared at him with a look that said that he had personally offended her by entering her presence. It had once been said that she could charm a skunk with her voice and looks, but now she seemed unable to think that perhaps he was in trouble, rather than the trouble itself. She murmured, "Kids these days, not what they used to be, I tell you! That one there, he's a real trouble monger, no doubt about it." She had drawn her conclusion from his dress, the hoodie and ripped jeans a trademark, or so she thought, of the degeneration of the day's children. Even worse were the women trouncing around in dark eyeliner, claiming to be "goths", as though such a thing could be natural. Her own granddaughter was one, and she disapproved strongly of the culture.

Danny, though possessing of a finely-attuned sense of hearing, ignored the muttered comment, ignored the pressing of the people in the vicinity to get away from the instinctive danger that set their senses rattling like alarms, ignored the curious stares of some of the younger generation, filled with curiosity at the stranger's appearance in their midst. Instead, he continued his slow trot forward, glancing around constantly, giving the appearance of a bird, never really resting, always searching for danger from any corner.

With eyes only for his course, and for the dangers his paranoid state conjured around him, he did not expect an elderly man to approach him.

The man was colorful, the perfect image of an eccentric relative. He was hoary, yet seemed more alive than the youngest present, poised despite the cane, with an attitude that only served to convey his complete presence in the present, and confident in a way that so many others lacked. He cared not for the danger that rattled his senses, for he had many times served in dangerous situations, a veteran himself, and sensed in the boy a kindred spirit.

He came within a few feet of the wary boy, smiling reassuringly, allowing generous room for personal space. The black-haired boy watched his every move, a squirrel-like curiosity mixed with the twitchiness of a bird. Combat seemed to be inscribed in his every feature, his will one of iron, prepared to run or fight at any moment. The man did not seem to care at all for the possibility of attack, instead allowing himself to appear as non-threatening as humanly possible.

Danny waited for the elderly man to make some sort of move, either an attack, or a simple walk by him that would cumulate in his being ignored. Instead of allowing Danny to relax, the ancient man leaned forward and said, with a small smile, "Hello!"

This simple gesture of human politeness stunned Danny, leaving him frozen for an instant. He might have been nearly finished with high school, yet few talked to him, and even fewer used such a friendly tone. Danny stared, before stuttering out, "H-Hello, sir." He half-prayed he was polite enough to pass this man's approval, though the lack of it would not truly affect him in a negative or positive way.

His response seemed to please the man, whose smile grew in size, confusing Danny with the brightness of it. "Ben, over there," here the old man gestured to a teen with brown hair stationed at the corner, "can help you carry those groceries if you need help. I myself get a little help when I come shopping, and there's none better here for the job." The teen in question shifted uneasily, clearly unwilling to help the ghostly human in their midst, yet managed to struggle a few feet closer despite the aura.

"No, sir," Danny responded softly. "I can manage." In a way, these lines represented his life. He could manage everything thrown at him, or at least put on a good act of doing it.

Somehow, seemingly sensing the dual nature of his reply, the elderly man responded calmly, "Asking for help is not a bad thing. You look lost-would you like a meal? The Simmering Cup sells them at a small price, and you look like you could use one." It was true enough. The boy looked like a street child, ragged and torn at the edges, never relaxing in the slightest. He was as thin as a reed, nay, thinner, as though the slightest breeze would blow him away.

"N-no. I'm fine, sir," The boy denied.

The man would not take no for an answer. The boy clearly needed help, and the man would be damned if he didn't try to give some. Too many had he seen fall into a shadow without aid from someone outside themselves, and he could see the trauma just under the saran-wrap mask, waiting to lure him into a dark corner and ambush him before he could fight back.

Instead, the man intruded into the boy's personal space, letting his hand drift close to the boy, before retracting it when he seemed to withdraw slightly. He used a deal he hoped would work, "I'll pay."

With those words, he could see the boy's resolve crumbling. He knew not to push it farther yet, to instead allow for three, two, one, "You won't owe me anything. It's my pleasure to help you, and I'd be quite willing to do it for free."

A spark flared in the boy's eyes, before he protested, "B-but I can't let you do that for me. I n-need to d-do something if you plan on doing something like that."

The man took a mental step back, realizing he had made a mistake, backtracking. "If you are determined to pay me, I could ask you to do a little yard work for me, and call it even." He knew he had saved himself with that line, and he could see the bonds that kept the boy from accepting loosening.

"My name is Caleb Wilson." The man stated, once again extending his hand. This time the boy slowly reached forward, allowing himself to shake the man's hand. There was no reply to his comment as he waited.

The boy seemed confused by the pause, as in fact he was panicking, though it took an instant for the former piano player and current veteran to notice the frantic glance he cast around.

Danny had panicked the instant he realized he was being asked his name, and almost shut down. He glanced sharply around, looking for inspiration. He needed-a memory popped to mind involuntarily.

"… _your teacher for this year's English, Mr. William Lancer!"_

"M-my name is William. Err, Daniel Williams." A burning blush crept up his cheeks, and he anxiously rubbed his neck, hoping the possibly insane man hadn't noticed the pause that would indicate the lying nature of his speech.

Caleb nodded. The lie was obvious, but calling the newly dubbed Daniel out on it would doubtless destroy the modicum of trust he had been given, enough to at least allow the boy to not dodge him entirely, and to allow the boy to tolerate going out to eat with someone he didn't know. "The Cup is just around the corner."

The walk was short, and little conversation was made, though as they walked Danny grew more at ease, if only slightly, and he ceased to watch the man, sure he was not a threat, or at least he could be easily escaped should the need arise. They arrived at the Steaming Cup, where Danny ordered black tea, rice, chicken, and an orange, and Caleb got sweet tea, a salad, and fried tenders. A benefit of that particular location was the relaxed atmosphere, undisturbed even by the aura Danny radiated. Part of the reason, of course, lay in the fact that Danny was containing it as well as he could, pulling it in and pushing out calm, like breathing. Haunting auras were irritating, and his had only recently emerged noticeably, so he didn't have much control.

Though the older man tried to start a conversation with him, Danny focused on the food and drink, guzzling it like a starved wolf. Caleb, on the other hand, ate politely, ignoring the bad manners the younger boy possessed, probably born out of a need to eat his food before it could be taken away. He observed the boy closely, hoping for more hints as to the nature of the problem, and thus, how to proceed.

Quickly eaten food-has been taken away in the past.

Wariness-mostly gone, probable cause frequent attacks or abuse.

Clothes-Stolen, due to the good quality and recent tears. Not old, probably less than two months.

Dirtiness-no place to live, or else bad habits. Well-cleaned hands, so likely street living.

Inability to sit still-nervous, unable to fully relax.

Purple under eyes-insomnia, nightmares, or inability to sleep. Probably nightmares, given the good weather lately.

Scarring-this was one Caleb almost didn't notice, except that there were thin white lines peeking out from under his hair in a few places, and his sleeves slipped up, revealing a multitude of scars, some appearing deliberate and straight, others accidental or unwanted, revealed by their jagged nature.

He watched the boy plow through his food, and made a decision. He couldn't eat all the food he had, so he scooped some of it off into Daniel's plate.

"Sir? Mr. Wilson? That's your food," the boy commented, clearly bewildered by the gesture, leaning away from the reaching hands.

"It is, but I'm not very hungry, and you obviously are. I would rather you didn't starve to death," the man stated, giving his reasons, though holding back how much he was reminded of his brother by the boy. Danny started a protest, but was cut off with a sharp, dry, "If you plan on helping me in my yard, you shouldn't be so empty you collapse on your first swipe with the rake."

Danny gave in. "Thank you, sir." He was grateful for the food, even if it felt like he was a pig for taking it. He was conscious of his wild appearance and managed to slow his eating, careful now to use his silverware and wipe his hands and mouth every once in a while with the napkin provided. He left the hoodie up, however. He didn't want the elderly man opposite him to see everything, though the hoodie had slipped briefly earlier, and Caleb had certainly noticed, judging by the gaze that had been cast at his scars.

He finished the food, even with a large amount, before Caleb took his last bite, and gulped the last of his tea in record timing. He set the cup down with a chink sound, and waited quietly. Mr. Wilson probably wouldn't want him to leave, especially since he had promised to help with the older man's yard.

Finally, Caleb ate the last of his chicken tenders, tipped the waitress, and got up with a creak and groan from the chair and himself, leaving to pay the people at the register. Danny followed him, and Caleb led him out, knowing that if he let Danny out of his sight for long, it was likely that in such a large crowd (it seemed like a large crowd to the locals, it being the tourism season, and them having the finest fudge in North Carolina) he would bolt.

Caleb himself fought the instincts that told him such a large crowd was dangerous, and pushed his way through it, finding his car in a matter of about five loud minutes. He settled in the front driver's seat, and Danny started to sit in the back before Caleb snorted and told him, "Get in the front, Danny. The back is crowded and cramped, and there's plenty of room up front." With a little sigh, the teen obeyed him, settling quietly in for the thirty-minute drive to the man's house, uneasy with his proximity, but slowly relaxing once more.

The conversation was small until they reached the house where the man lived. It wasn't quite a shack, just a little run down, with weeds growing rampant and vines climbing the side of the walls. Bits of broken items were scattered across the area, glittering in the mid-day sun. Blue china and red glass flashed, and glittering yellows and greens mingled. Caleb didn't like how run-down his home was-far from the abode he'd been born in in New York, but it did do its job.

"This, Daniel, is my home. I know it looks bad, and you don't need to do too much work, just do as much as you like," Caleb stated, introducing his home to Danny. With a light shake of his head and a little flash of a grin at Danny's startled expression, probably envisioning the loads of work it would take to do much of anything here, he led the boy to the decrepit tool shed, where ancient tools stood beside a massive weed-eater, machinery large due to the early-model nature of the equipment. He told Danny what not to do, and what to do (if he was willing), and sent him off, wondering how long it would take the boy to finish any of the work around the place.

Amazingly, the teen came back two hours later, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, flopping dramatically into a chair with a sigh that expressed his complete exhaustion, but with a happy smirk on his face that bespoke of something strange. When he had regained the energy to move again, he led Caleb around the yard, enjoying the awe displayed when Caleb saw the degree of work completed. The grass was much shorter (thanks, duplication), the glass was removed (intangibility), and the vines on the house had been removed (again, intangibility). A few trees were uprooted, due to super strength, though Caleb certainly wasn't told the abilities part, and Danny allowed him to be shocked over the work completed.

As he returned, preparing to leave again, Caleb said, "Daniel…Daniel, would you like to stay here?"

Danny just stared blankly, unsure he'd heard correctly. Finally, he stuttered a reply, "B-but you only just met me, and I have stuff to do, and I can't-"

Caleb cut him off. "You need someone to help you. I know you don't have a family, I know you're a street child. I can offer a deal. If you stay here, you clean the rest of my yard and fix as much of the house as you can. If you want to stay afterwards you can, but at least the first part will be a fair trade, and the next part can just be interesting." He was deadly serious. Danny had done a great job, and he needed help anyway, so he could pay the boy for the work, set him up a little, and maybe try to heal some of the gaping wounds that seemed hidden, though ineffectively, beneath everything. In the mean-time, he didn't believe the boy would stay unless he had a good reason, and so it made for beneficial bait for both parties.

With hidden happiness, the lonely teen responded, "I guess it wouldn't be bad. If you really mean it, that is."

He shifted a tad nervously, hoping he wasn't intruding by agreeing, and his concerns were soothed when the man responded with enthusiasm, "Thank you! Now that that's decided, I'll take you shopping in the morning for new clothes, and hopefully more food."

Danny proffered his own food, which Caleb accepted with a grateful smile, and set up a bed out of spare blankets in the main room, before curling up on it, exhausted by the tough day of physical labor, and falling asleep without even a bite of supper.


	3. (Kurt) Confrontation

**I own nothing! Nothing except the plot, that is** **… Enjoy the read! This takes place before mutants are revealed to the public.  
**

* * *

 **Confrontation**

* * *

 ***BAMF***

The sound echoes from the school halls, bounds off every locker and makes itself known as clear as day. Only one person produces it. Only a few people know what the sound is. About three or less people more know who produces it.

One of many people who only match a few of these requirements, Daniel Williams, stands in the Biology class, handing out the many forms he has prepared for his students as homework, a homework assignment sheet and two assignments sealed in envelopes and due at various times. It reads,

WEEK OF OCTOBER 2 HOMEWORK

TUESDAY-MEIOSIS AND MITOSIS QUIZ

WEDNESDAY-UNIT 6 REVIEW

FRIDAY-UNIT 6 IN-CLASS TEST (Make sure to STUDY!)

Honors work is due over the internet on Monday and the few students taking Honors Biology are extremely grateful it isn't due with the test. Some of them (most) haven't actually even begin to research the short essay and extra sheet due then. They will get a reminder later in the week to complete their work.

About 30 people are settled in his class and Kurt isn't one of them. He has exactly 30 seconds until the tardy bell rings and just after the BAMF, at 28 seconds, the German boy speedwalks into the room, almost throws his book bag on the floor next to his seat (unfortunately at the far side of the room away from the door), and slams into his chair at nearly lightning speed. The bell rings exactly 10 seconds later.

Curiosity tingles in the halfa teacher's core as he walks to the door, casts a brief glance around to see if any stragglers are outside, and closes the door. His policy is that if the person isn't in by the tardy bell or has a reasonable excuse for being late, they get an extra assignment. As a result, few people are late. Today is an exception, and a certain Reese Webster is late. Reese has a peculiar habit of showing up late on important days and being early on perfectly unimportant days.

Class goes on well as Mr. Williams explains the difference between the ways telomeres pull the chromosomes for meiosis and mitosis and fields questions about why chromosomes aren't necessarily colorful despite the "chromo-" in the name. They manage to only dip into philosophy and color theory once. In the middle of class, Mr. Williams passes around the "Help Basket", a little green box wherein they can put things that need to be explained further before the test. Since they are working on the cellular reproduction section of Unit 6, the questions are mostly from other, already covered sections. A few students have become famous for putting strange things in the box. In reality, the box is for any problem and unless the notes are marked (or judged to be) private, Mr. Williams reads them aloud on the big review days. It can also be for comments. He gives them a "help box grade", about 10% of their grade for the year. In-class participation is another 20%.

After Biology is completed, Physics and Chemistry are taught, then the advanced sciences. Lunch is stuffed somewhere in between the classes, but it's so small even Superman couldn't have spotted it on a pie chart of the time spent throughout the school day. Mr. Williams certainly misses it.

Finally, the day is finished, along with most of the students, wiped out by listening to teachers for so long, fingers falling apart at the joints from notetaking.

Mr. Williams has been driven to insanity's brink by the constant BAMFing one of his youngest Institute Students has been releasing (Institute Student being the popular term for students from the Xavier School for the Gifted). It's time to get to the bottom of the sound.

As students rush eagerly out of the building, Mr. Williams phases invisibly through multiple walls and into the school library, where, true to form, Kitty has captured an Institute Student in an attempt at getting them to check her out a book since she's maxed out her library card. It's Kurt, just as Mr. Williams' empathic abilities have told him. He floats to the door, then becomes visible and tangible in a conveniently camera-free location. There aren't many camera-free locations, but Mr. Williams has located every one of them over the past few years.

"Mr. Wagner, I need to talk to you for just a moment." An official, authorative tone does great things for students' obedience, Mr. Williams has found.

Sure enough, Kurt excuses himself from Kitty and they exchange alarmed looks. As Mr. Williams and Kurt walk towards an unused corner of the library, Kurt inquires, "Is zere a problem vis my homework?"

"Oh, no. Not in the slightest," Mr. Williams smiles. When Mr. Williams can no longer sense Kitty strongly behind the two of them, he rotates on his toes half-way and comes to a halt. Kurt follows his gesture and the pair faces each other. Mr. Williams notices a pale mist of worry filtering off of the teen and decides that no matter how fun it can be to be dramatic and wait for Kurt to explode with anxiety, he'd rather just get to the point.

Mr. Williams continues, "I've noticed how often you nearly turn up late for class-"

"I'm sorry." Kurt interrupts unintentionally.

"I'm not talking to you regarding your habit of near-lateness. In fact, there is nothing for you to apologize for. I merely wish to ask you why, when you are late, you seem to pop up just after the pops in the hallway. Some of the students say it smells rather sulfurous. I'm certain you are causing it in some shape of form, but I'd like to know what the purpose is."

As Mr. Williams speaks on, Kurt's eyes seem to widen and bug slightly out until he almost worries that they will fall out of Kurt's eyesockets. He has no idea why Kurt seems so alarmed by his words, but he continues, almost waiting for Kurt to cut him off.

"Ah-It's nothing. Ze smell and sound, zey puzzle all of us. Do you know anyvon else who could tell you who it vas? I am not ze cause."

Mr. Williams waits, but nothing more comes, so he speaks. "If you cannot tell me, I would rather you said so instead of lying. As much as I prefer knowing what is happening, I can live without that knowledge."

Kurt hesitates, then stumbles, "I vas not lying!"

Mr. Williams waits.

"I-Eet is a secret. I cannot tell you now."

"Thank you for answering honestly this time. I won't ask again, but if you decide you can trust me with your secret, I will definitely be ready to hear it." (Mr. Williams hides it but he wishes in this moment that he was telepathic and could hear the secret by "accident").

Kurt hurries away and Mr. Williams returns to his classroom to pack, each filled with curiosity and worry in varying amounts.

 **HEH-HEH-HEH! Another oneshot. This one will may have a bit of an AU additional part, but may not. Review if you want a virtual cookie and many thanks! And "Reese Webster" intrigues me far more than he/she/they ought to for someone I made up on the spot. He/she/they might show up somewhere again.**

 **Many of you may have seen my story, Silent Witness. Some of you may know that I plan on writing a sequel when I have time. Do any of you have any ideas? I have two primary same-universe ideas for a sequel (both X-Men: The Movie), but I can't for the life of me decide between the two. One is based on Danny running away and the other is based on him being adopted by the X-Men through sheer bad luck on their part. Aside from that, I was also considering transferring it to another universe (i.e. something like Arrow) since I've never done another universe before. Then there's the infinity of other options out there. What do you, my readers, think? I might set up a poll when I have upwards of three options humming along.**

 **(Don't worry-when I start another multi-chapter fic that is more than three or so chapters long in total, it'll be after completing [or reaching] the climax for Hidden Phantom, and quite possibly after finishing the entire story).**

 **-MiaulinK**


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